


to sin with you in silence

by coykoi



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Beach time, F/M, Spideychelle, emotional cheating, honeymoon!, it’s complicated™️, just friend things, midnight talks on the balcony, peter likes hermit crabs, strangers to friends to ...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 10:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: “I live in New York too.”“Really?” He sits up, leaning forward now with his arms resting on his legs. “Around where? I’m from Queens—”“Queens,” she says at the same time before they both fall silent. He blinks a few times, rubbing his lips together, face scrunched up as if he’s trying to place her from somewhere. They haven’t met before—she would’ve remembered him. But maybe in another lifetime. “Small world.”Peter looks down, breathes out a laugh that blows away in the wind. “But not small enough if this has been our first meet.”or, michelle meets peter from her balcony and they keep coming back to each other each night
Relationships: Felicia Hardy/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Harry Osborn, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 42
Kudos: 60





	to sin with you in silence

**Author's Note:**

> the way this fic wasn’t meant to be written and then I wrote it

Michelle twists the ring that’s cold and a little too small around her finger, feeling the chilly air dance around the room of the luxurious yet drafty hotel. Sitting up in bed, sheets pooling around her waist, she looks at the body sleeping next to her, back illuminated by the moonlight through the windows.

She exhales a breath before standing, wrapping a blanket around her and walks over to the balcony doors, welcoming the warm salty air as she steps outside. Beaches have never been her preferred vacation spot—the sand and the ocean don’t tend to work in her favor. But she agreed, and she can’t complain. It is a beautiful night.

Tightening the blanket around her shoulders, breeze ruffling her hair, she stands there for a good ten minutes, just listening to the ocean. The waves smack against the sand with a heaviness and resilience she admires despite having the tiniest fear of the water that sprung up during childhood.

The ocean is one of the strongest forces on earth, so who can really blame her. That doesn’t mean she can’t be jealous of its strength.

Michelle closes her eyes, relishing in the space she gets out here rather than in the room, the feeling of claustrophobia building up the longer she’s inside—a feeling that has nothing to do with the walls she’s surrounded with. 

“Long night?”

Her eyes immediately snap open at the sound of the voice, Michelle turning to see a young man standing on the balcony parallel to hers with a glass of wine and an untucked dress shirt matched with board shorts. She muses in her head for a moment before asking, “Are you telling me you’ve had a long night?”

“I...guess I was asking if you’ve had one. But now that I realize...” He trails off, grip tightening around the stem of his glass, red liquid sloshing over the rim. “Sorry. It’s obviously none of my business. Usually people aren’t just out here at two in the morning though.”

“You’re out here.”

“Long night,” he echoes with a small shrug and a halfhearted smile. There’s a crease between his brows that doesn’t disappear even when he takes a sip of his wine. “I haven’t seen you around here before—and I only say that because there was, uh...an older man who used to room there. He would strum to his folk music and smoke weed right where you’re standing.”

“Sounds like he’s living his good life,” Michelle replies with a quiet laugh, rolling her knuckles against the metal railing. She has to speak over the seagulls in the background, but if she had some bread, she could probably shut them up real fast. “How long have you been here?”

“Three days so far. We got here at the beginning of the week and we’ll be here until...we’re ready to go home, I guess. We didn’t really set a date.” He hesitates and then gives her an off-handed explanation he doesn’t owe, but she was curious, so she accepts it. “I’m on my honeymoon.”

“Congratulations,” she offers, receiving a polite ‘thank you’ in response. Her loose flyaways are starting to float with the breeze, even as she tucks a curl behind her ear. “I don’t have the luxury of leaving whenever, but I’m also not on my honeymoon.”

“Vacationing then?”

“I guess so, yeah.” Michelle doesn’t elaborate, knowing it’s not worth mentioning to a stranger that she’s here celebrating, that this was supposed to be a fun trip for her and her boyfriend. Fiancé, rather. The term slips from her mind from time to time, and she tells herself it’s because it’s new. 

“Well, I hope you have a good time. There’s a, uh, really nice seaside cafe down on the boardwalk if you ever need recommendations on where to go to eat,” he tells her, shifting from one foot to the other. She nods, figuring she shouldn’t blow off his suggestions but knows that Harry will want to visit the more upscale restaurants nearby. “Well, I should probably get back to my—”

“Yeah, yeah. Same.” She debates whether or not to ask for his name, debates whether or not knowing his name would matter. “Nice talking to you…”

“Peter,” he offers anyway with a looser smile, and she hadn’t noticed the strain behind them until it wasn’t there anymore. She wonders about her own smile, if she’s as transparent as this guy. “You?”

“Michelle.”

“Chelle.”

“ _ Mi_chelle,” she enunciates, Peter laughing abruptly and scaring away the seagulls that were starting to perch on their railings. So much for new friends. 

“We’re on the beach. I think Chelle is more fitting. But, hey. I’ll save it for next time,” Peter says with the barest grin, turning his back and taking a sip of his red wine before raising the glass, disappearing behind the curtains fluttering in the doorway leading to his room.

Michelle exhales slowly, unsure if she’s amused or confused, before heading back inside her own drafty room, closing the door behind her. The air conditioning hits her on full blast.

In bed, Harry stirs in his sleep, making an unintelligible sound that almost could be her name. His hand reaches out, falls on open empty space, cold sheets. He cracks an eye open, gaze landing on her, and there’s something familiar about his soft smile that she does love. 

“Hey. Why are you up?” he croaks, making a dumb ‘c’mere’ gesture with his forefinger. She rolls her eyes lightly, accepting the offer to crawl into his arms, letting the blanket flutter on top of them both.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Michelle says simply, his brows kneading in understanding. He drops a brief kiss to her shoulder before mumbling something she can’t make out. “Har?”

“Yes, MJ?”

“Give me a little breathing room,” she jokes partly, and he responds with a small smile, releasing her from his arms. The feeling of being closed in disappears along with his familiar warmth. 

They both turn on their respective sides, though Michelle doesn’t know how much longer it takes her to fall asleep. The clock continues to tick. Her fingers continue to twist the ring.

* * *

  
  
Breakfast is around noon the next day, both of them waking up later and getting it delivered straight to the room. Harry ordered her a chocolate croissant and some English breakfast tea to go with his sunny-side up egg platter. He lets her take a bite of his toast and a slice of bacon, says it’s because he’s kind, nudges the arch of her foot in a habitual way.

She rolls her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips as she doesn’t agree or disagree. He presses a teasing kiss to the back of her neck before getting up, slinging a shirt over his shoulder to get ready.

The plan was for the two of them to go out somewhere, Harry asking if she’s still feeling up to it. She shrugs, doesn’t say no, resulting in the two of them spending the day in a pottery shop on the boardwalk.

It’s enjoyable enough. Harry knows what she likes. 

They’ve been together for around five years now, though she remembers the day he’d knocked on her door in sophomore year with a bouquet of roses. It was Valentine’s Day. He always claims he had come up to the wrong house, that it wasn’t his intention to show up on her doorstep, but his cheeks always tinge pink when she brings it up. He was a sweet sucker back then, still is at times.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” he asks her, and she realizes she’d been standing in front of a cabinet, fragile china in her hands that she’s holding carelessly. “You know the rules here. You drop it, you buy it, and I only have pockets of lint.”

“Please,” she says with a snort, and Harry smiles wryly, shakes his head and pries the bowl from her fingers.

“Kidding, obviously. I just know you wouldn’t want that one.” He guides her over to an opposite shelf, points out a plate that’s holding a card in the middle. They could get their initials engraved if they wanted. “What do you say? The perfect souvenir from the perfect trip?”

Michelle nods, wishing she could care more about a piece of ceramic that they’re never going to use, that’s probably going to gather dust in the back of some cabinet. She appreciates all the effort he’s putting in. Truly. It’s a nice trip, doesn’t feel perfect like he claims, but they’re having fun.

They head back to the hotel room, Michelle relieved that they can relax a bit while Harry is immediately suggesting they go to the hotel restaurant on the top floor for dinner that night. Upscale, expensive, and plenty of chocolate fountains. She suggests ordering in instead, and he easily agrees, dropping a brief kiss to her hair before going to make the phone call on the balcony.

She watches him lean against the railing, talking quietly enough that she can’t hear him even with the door open, and she thinks about the reasons why they’re here. It’s meant to be a celebration, so it should feel like one too. She should be more excited over the ring, not constantly twisting it around her finger because it’s too tight. But maybe it’s just temporary, her mood that night. 

Harry eventually hangs up his phone, dropping it in the pocket of his pants. He turns to come back inside, hesitating when he glances to the right. There’s a polite smile and a small wave. There’s a quiet and unintelligible mutter. And that’s all there is before he’s by her side again.

“The Thai will be ready in a half hour but it’s about a twenty minute drive to go pick it up. I’ll be back soon.” He flashes her a slight grin before leaving, Michelle sitting on the bed cross-legged and unsure of what to think or feel or both. About anything right now.

Michelle sighs, massages her temple, and considers calling Liz. Gwen. Her mother. Anyone at this point, just for a bit of advice. She shuffles onto the balcony, feeling incredibly sheltered by the dark clouds passing overhead. It’s going to thunderstorm.

“Fancy seeing you so soon. Thought you were more of a two a.m. owl,” a familiar voice rings out before she has the chance to comprehend the fact that he’s over there again. She looks over, sees him lounging in one of the chairs with his phone in hand. “Chelle.”

“Michelle,” she reminds him.

“I didn’t forget,” Peter replies with a shit-eating sorta smile. She quirks her lips and takes her own seat, crossing her legs, staring at the water that almost seems black with the lack of moonlight. “What are you doing out here?”

“Aren’t I allowed on my own balcony?” Michelle asks dryly, his eyes widening slightly as he backpedals. Obviously he didn’t mean it that way, she knows. “I was just messing with you. Don’t apologize.”

“Sorry.” He cocks his head at that, wincing slightly and releasing a quiet laugh, bottom lip between his teeth. “Sorry times two.”

She snorts, dropping her head so that she’s staring at her lap. There aren’t many casual conversation starters popping up in her head, so she takes the only information she knows about him and runs with it. “How’s your honeymoon going?”

Peter shrugs, smiles slightly, and says, “It’s great. I’m having a blast. The beach is fun but I almost stepped on a crab. I felt really bad—it was looking for a new shell. They’re really cute, did you know that?”

“What, hermit crabs?” She laughs, earnest.

“Yes! Ugh, I love those little guys.” He shakes his head, and she presses her lips together, smiling. Her watch reads not even five minutes since Harry has left. “Anyway...what about you?”

“What about me? Do I enjoy crabs?”

“I meant...how your vacation is going so far,” Peter clarifies, raising his voice to speak above the wind that’s getting stronger. It’s whistling around them, drowning him out, Michelle straining to hear.

“Fine. Having a blast,” she copies with a slight tilt of her head. He turns his chair so that they’re facing each other instead of the ocean, tapping his ear for her to speak up. She doesn’t, but he seems to adjust just fine. “We went to a pottery shop and got a plate. That was about the highlight of my day.”

“Oh, wow. Enthralling.” He hesitates, brows scrunched in curiosity. “Who’s we?”

“I’m here with my boyfriend.” Michelle says it without thinking, realizes it’s not right but doesn’t correct herself. She has the ring, that’s evidence enough to label the very thing she can’t seem to remember half the time. 

“Nice,” Peter replies in kind, earnest. He runs a hand through his hair as if the wind hasn’t already ruffled it enough. “I saw him earlier, but he didn’t say hey. A shame that we didn’t get to have the same  _ deep _ , meaningful kinda conversations that you and I have out here.”

“Oh, for sure. Deep. Meaningful. It’s like poetry, the way we talk about crabs,” she agrees, pursing her lips, biting back a smirk. He throws his head back, laughs, shoulders shaking, and she thinks it’s great that he finds her funny even when she’s not being funny. She rounds back to conversation starters. “So where are you vacationing from?”

“Ah.” He rocks back in his chair, chuckles dying down until she can’t hear him any longer. “New York?”

“Question or answer?”

“Answer. Sorry. I know where I live,” he supplies with an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “In New York with my...well, I’ve lived with my aunt for most of my life. Only just moved out, and it’s…”

“It’s tough having to pay your own bills?” Michelle jokes, watching the way his lips curl, his one shoulder lifts and drops. Maybe it’s not tough for him to pay his own bills. Maybe he has a nice job. She doesn’t know anything about him. “I live in New York too.”

“Really?” He sits up, leaning forward now with his arms resting on his legs. “Around where? I’m from Queens—”

“Queens,” she says at the same time before they both fall silent. He blinks a few times, rubbing his lips together, face scrunched up as if he’s trying to place her from somewhere. They haven’t met before—she would’ve remembered him. But maybe in another lifetime. “Small world.”

Peter looks down, breathes out a laugh that blows away in the wind. “But not small enough if this has been our first meet.”

It suddenly starts to rain, droplets falling from the heavy clouds all at once, a downpour. Thunder claps from across the water, and she watches lightning strike in the same spot twice within the two minute mark. But maybe her eyes are just playing tricks on her.

Michelle is grateful for the balcony that’s sheltering her head a floor up, so they could stay out there if they really wanted. But it’s getting humid and her stomach is growling and the door to their hotel room opens to reveal Harry and their dinner. He shakes his hair out, notices her outside, beckons for her to come in so they can eat.

“I should...head inside now,” she eventually tells Peter, who’s watching the storm with his fingers twisted together. It’s the first time she notices his wedding ring, a simple gold band. He looks at her and offers a small smile. 

“Okay. It was nice talking to you, Chelle.”

“MJ.”

“Hmm?”

“My friends call me MJ,” Michelle says, not because she hates him calling her Chelle. Not the big reason, at least. She thinks they could be friends if they aren’t already. She thinks he’d be okay with it, and when the corners of his eyes crinkle with his resounding laugh, her assumption is either a complete joke or confirmed.

But she never does get to hear his response, Harry coming through the open door onto the balcony, letting her know the food is going to get cold. He places a hand on her shoulder, says she might get sick sitting out in the rain. She nods silently, standing up, glancing at Peter as his gaze follows Harry when they walk inside. The door closes behind them.

* * *

“Is something on your mind, MJ?”

Michelle pulls a t-shirt back on, knowing it’s probably his and unable to bring herself to care as she slides under the sheets. Harry’s looking at her with a perplexed expression, brows pinched, hand lightly skimming the skin of her leg before finding her hand. 

“Why do you ask?” she says, turning the television on, flipping to any channel, knowing she’ll probably fall asleep within the next half hour anyway. He swallows, shakes his head, turns on his back and drapes an arm around her shoulder. She repeats the question.

“You just didn’t seem too into it tonight,” he responds with a small shrug, a frown gracing his features, but she can tell he’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother him. It could be about his ego, but he’s more intuitive than that. “Maybe I’m imagining things, but the whole day, you’ve seemed...”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” She props herself up on her elbow to look him in the face, sees the way his eyes soften just a bit and he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart remains steady but she feels herself smile reflexively. 

It’s still storming outside even hours later, the ambiance a relaxing thing as Michelle flops back against the pillow, muting the TV. Harry begins humming the dumb theme song to the cartoon that was on anyway, and she muffles her quiet laughs into the crook of her elbow, him grinning something earnest underneath the smirk. They fall asleep facing each other.

The next few days feel just the same, and maybe they’re in a cycle now, but Harry’s mood seems to be progressively deteriorating as the week goes by. She’s in the shower that morning and he eats breakfast without her, which is fine in theory but rude in practice, so she has to order room service for herself while he gets ready.

“MJ,” he eventually calls out, emerging from the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”

“Let me finish my breakfast first and then I’ll let you know,” she replies dryly, throwing a shirt at him before standing up, about to go on the balcony. The clouds have cleared and it’s a sunny day, people lounging and kids running around on the far side of the beach.

“Wait, hold up. I know I’m probably not being…” Harry trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, and she pauses. “And I’m sorry. But you know how it is when my father calls, and I just don’t—”

“He called?”

“Before you woke up. He just wanted to talk details about the new Oscorp management but I really...could not give less of a shit.” He shrugs, his smile wry, and she wishes she wasn’t so familiar with the way Norman ran his household. Like a business rather than a family. “But anyway. This isn’t about him. I’m just happy to be here with you, and I’m sorry about breakfast—”

Michelle purses her lips, stifling an eye-roll, knowing he tends to suck up if he fucks up—no matter how small. His father doesn’t excuse him for being an asshole but she’s feeling lenient today. “Uh-huh. Okay, well, if we’re considering lunch, I might know a possibility. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” His lips curl slightly and he follows her out to the balcony, Michelle glancing back at him with a slight shrug. She doesn’t give a straight answer, watching the waves crash and picks at her muffin before dropping the rest towards the seagulls. He inhales softly before placing a hand on her shoulder. “MJ...you’re having a good time here, right?”

“Why are you asking?” She thinks it’s a silly question but maybe it’s a valid one, Michelle balling up the wrapper in her palm. He doesn’t respond right away. “Yes, Har. Of course I’m having a good time.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know? I’m aware the beach wasn’t your first choice, but it was the furthest we could get from New York. I figured you needed a break, and so did I,” he continues, slinking closer until both of his arms are around her, breath fanning her neck. 

“Don’t call it a break. Call it for what it is.” Or what he thinks it feels like.

“A celebration then. We’re celebrating, aren’t we? I just thought you’d be happier, that’s all,” Harry eventually says, and she nods, keeps quiet. Her lack of a response seems to be enough of an answer for him but he exhales, says nothing, goes back inside.

Michelle blows out a slow breath, gaze traveling to the empty balcony on the right. She wonders if he’s having a better vacation than her, hopes that he’s at least enjoying his honeymoon.

* * *

“How cute. Quaint little place.”

Michelle’s jaw ticks at the slight distaste in his tone that’s not so easily hidden behind a menu. She knows what he likes—places that aren’t so rustic or that don’t smell like seafood the moment you walk in or at least have formal seating with chair covers.

She stares at the menu, skimming the items despite knowing she’ll end up getting the crab cakes anyway. She just doesn’t feel like looking at Harry right now, aware that her agitation really has nothing to do with him and everything to do with her—only because she knew what to expect and let it take her off guard anyway. They’ve known each other for long enough now.

It’s clear the annoyance from this morning has had time to simmer, Harry sitting in his seat with his knee bouncing, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. He doesn’t want to be there, that much is clear. But the options are he can either be loud about it or he can simply be an asshole about it. 

Sometimes Michelle wishes she didn’t know the ins and outs of his personality so well, the things that piss him off to the things that can make him smile for hours. She wishes she didn’t know every little trait or tick because sometimes those things build up, lead her to the conclusion every now and then that while they may be older, their relationship feels like it really hasn’t progressed past high school.

It’s funny. They’re engaged and she loves him—it’s just funny how she can love him and like him but those two things feel as if they’re mutually exclusive. 

“Harry, could you—” She’s about to ask him to stop rattling the table, but he stands up abruptly and says he’s going to the restroom. Her gaze follows him before she scoffs, figures they’re past being mature about it right now.

The waitress comes over, dropping off two waters, Michelle nursing hers as she waits for him to return so they can order.

“Oh, hey—Michelle?”

“Hey,” she replies with a half-hearted wave of her fingers, her chin resting against her other palm as a familiar shadow falls over her. He shifts from one foot to the other, picking up the awkward atmosphere. It feels out of place compared to how easy they can talk at night. “Took your suggestion. I’m sure they have great food if we could get around to ordering already.”

“You’re here with—?” Peter cuts himself off, raising a brow, but she doesn’t offer a name, just nods instead. He smiles a little. “Well. Yeah, they do have good food. This is the third time we’ve come here since arriving, so…”

“And you’re here with…”

“Yep.” He jabs his thumb back towards the entrance, Michelle straining her neck to see. She gets a glimpse of some blonde hair but nothing more. “She’s waiting for a table to free up, but I just thought I’d come over and say...hey.”

“So weird that I’m seeing you outside of your natural habitat...the balcony,” Michelle drawls, smirking a bit as a muffled laugh escapes him. She watches as he tries to play it off as a cough, ducking into the crook of his elbow. “You know I’m not that funny, right?”

“Oh, I just—” He flushes slightly, embarrassed, and she suddenly feels bad, but he takes a step back. Her hand shoots out, snags his, pulls him away from the waiter that was just passing by with a tray of drinks. The metal of their rings clink, a cold sound. 

“I was just messing with you. Sorry.” She chews on her lower lip, hoping to dispel some of the tension she probably created. Her hand feels clammy when she pulls it back into her lap, his own fingers flexing by his side. “I know I’m hilarious.”

“Well.” Peter clears his throat, looking down as he completely averts his eyes from her, which is fair enough. The residual pink tint to his cheeks almost has her apologizing again. “I should probably get back to my…”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll...see you later, MJ,” he eventually says, turning on his heel and nearly stumbling right into Harry as he rounds the corner. “God—sorry, man. Sorry.”

“Geez, some people,” Harry mutters under his breath when he sits back down at the table. He asks her if she’s ordered yet but she tells him no, that she was waiting for him to get back. His scowl fades slightly, and Michelle could tell him that it was to make it easier on the waitress, that she couldn’t care less if they ordered together, but it really doesn’t matter now.

Michelle orders the crab cakes, Harry getting himself some lobster for lunch—if only because it was the most expensive item on the menu for a little cafe and not because he likes lobster. She sits back in her chair, grateful that she decided to wear a sleeveless shirt on that sweltering day.

“I have a question for you,” she eventually speaks up despite just wanting to have a good lunch. Though, a good lunch doesn’t necessarily mean a good conversational topic. “About what you said earlier.”

“I’ve said a lot of things,” he reminds her, pulling apart their appetizer bread into little pieces. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“What makes you think I’m not having a good time?” she asks simply, plowing past the bout of annoyance she feels at his indifferent tone. “You can’t possibly be pissed off at the fact that I’m not acting as happy as you think I should be.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Michelle. It’s pretty hard to be so chipper when you look like you want to be anywhere but here,” Harry says dryly. “You must think I’m acting like a proper dick right about now, huh.”

“Well, if you want my honest answer.”

“And if you want mine, take a look at yourself these past few days and think about how maybe your attitude might just be rubbing off. Don’t get all high and mighty on me when you’ve been just as much of a dick,” he continues with a scoff. “Maybe that’s been my big fucking clue you’re not having a grand ‘ol time.”

Michelle gives a laugh of disbelief, sitting back in her chair as she says, “The fact that you’re even...god, Harry. If you want to compare us, then fine, but don’t say my attitude is rubbing off on you when you’re the one saying shit like this.”

“I’m sorry, MJ,” he eventually says after a moment of silence. “All I want is to know what’s going on inside your head every once in a while. It’s not that hard to be honest. Otherwise, we’re both going to continue having a bad time.”

“You’re right,” she responds with a sigh, scrubbing her jaw, but that’s as far as they get when their food arrives, the conversation coming to an end anyway. He gives her a look that makes her stomach twist, and she wishes she hadn’t already lost her appetite.

* * *

“Long night?” Michelle doesn’t even turn her head when the words escape her lips, assuming at this point. She’s leaning against the balcony railing, and maybe it’ll rain again. Maybe it won’t, but it’s thundering in the far distance.

“Always, kitten.” The voice that replies isn’t the same one she has familiarized herself with, Michelle realizes, the syllables long and dragged out as if they’re being blown out like a breath of smoke. 

Michelle brings herself to look over, finds the woman leaning against the small table, arms crossed over a slip nightgown. She’s really quite beautiful with her long hair, lashes, perfectly sculpted cheekbones. What little she’d seen earlier in the restaurant was barely a glimpse but now she has the full picture, and it has her heart pounding.

“Sorry to hear,” she eventually says, looking away after staring for longer than what seems respectful. 

The woman merely smirks a bit, reveals white teeth beneath faded red lipstick, saying, “Don’t be sorry. It’s a fun time.”

“As it should be.” Michelle feels the heat in her cheeks as she looks down at the sand below them, sees the movement of a shell, wonders why her first thought is that he would love the idea of naming this crab. She shakes her head, knows she’s at a loss for words. “So, uh, are you—”

“You’re Michelle, aren’t you?”

Michelle blinks. She swallows, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, sees the way the moonlight glimmers off her band. “I am.”

“I hear you guys out here at the worst hours of the day, as would anyone with ears,” she continues, not unkindly. There’s something playful about her expression, like she’s not taking this conversation seriously. “He always leaves the door open. It feels like an invitation to join but it never really...is.”

“I leave the door open too,” Michelle adds, chewing her lower lip. She had never considered shutting it, shutting herself out—or shutting Harry in. But closing the door feels like hiding something, and they don’t have anything to hide. She doesn’t have anything to hide.

“Of course you do. It’s only right.” She smiles slightly, only the light shining from the room illuminating her silvery hair. “I would love to know my neighbor, Michelle. How long are you here for?”

“We’re leaving at the end of the week.”

A small laugh escapes, a sound she swears she’s heard before through the wall between their rooms. “Well, perfect then. Come over for coffee. Bring your plus-one. We’ll make it into a little something.” 

Michelle hums through closed lips, wondering if it would be a bad move to be coerced over, wondering if she could simply be considered dumb or if she’d be considered something else for wanting it to happen. She looks at her and quirks a smile. “It’s a date.”

“Sure is, kitten.” She stands up, glances back, her smirk cracking into something softer as a silhouette passes by the sheer curtains before stepping through. “Hey, Pete. How do you feel about guests?”

“Felicia,” Peter exhales with a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, and Michelle sees the whites of his eyes as he looks at her in the dark. There’s something uncomfortable twisted in his smile. “I’m sure they have better things to be doing than hanging out with us.”

“If you don’t want me to come, say so,” Michelle murmurs, hoping he’ll say no. The thing that has made this so easy with him has always been the distance between them. She hasn’t thought past them being separated by their balconies.

“I don’t...not want you to come.”

“Thought so, Pete,” Felicia husks, her voice low and spoken only to him, but it carries in the wind. She smiles a little but Michelle thinks she’d be blind to miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes. “If you’re free tomorrow, Michelle, I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”

Michelle blinks slowly, catching the tone of her words, and Peter tightens his expression, keeping his lips pressed together. He doesn’t try to say anything, not even as she brushes past him with an unbothered gait. The door leading to their room remains open, but he doesn’t follow her inside.

Before she can even get a word out, Peter speaks up first, fingers flexing around the balcony railing. “She’s great, you know?”

“I can see it.” Michelle doesn’t need convincing. There’s something about Felicia that feels intriguing, feels exciting, feels like everything she doesn’t have in her own relationship. And she can admit that to herself, that what’s left between her and Harry is too familiar. Easy to fall back on. 

Peter hesitates for a moment before closing the door. He looks down, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “She’s great, and...she’s everything I’ve got right now. I love her. Obviously. I married her.”

“I’m happy for you,” she says cautiously, unsure why he’s telling her this, unsure why it sounds like it’s meant to be convincing. 

“So I don’t think you should come over tomorrow,” he rushes out, switching his tune from just a few moments ago. 

“You’ve changed your mind?” Michelle asks, not because she’s mad about it—if anything, she’s relieved. But she’s also curious and wonders if it had to do with Felicia’s choice of words. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We are. But we also barely know each other,” Peter exhales, despite how much they seem to come out here together. He pushes a hand through his hair, turning around and starts to pace before eventually standing right across from her with his body leaning against the railing. “And it’s easier to talk to you from a distance.”

“Why’s that?” She thinks about how she’d thought the same thing and has to wonder why that is. He probably understands the answer more than she ever could right now.

“I think about you sometimes,” he eventually confesses in one breath, gaze locked firmly on his latched hands, voice barely audible. “And I don’t mean to. I have no reason to. I’m just worried that if we...I don’t want to make this worse or dig myself into a hole that I can’t get out of.”

Michelle swallows, knows that she thinks about him sometimes too, but she won’t say it out loud. There would be no point in that because really, it doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. “That’s fine. I won’t come over. We don’t have to, uh…”

“Cool. Thanks.” He nods fervently, scrubs his jaw. “Well, I should...get to bed. But I’ll...talk to you tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” she says, her heart feeling like it’s being squeezed by a rubber band that might just snap by the end of the week. He seems to accept her answer easily though, which is nice. 

“Goodnight, Chelle.”

Peter slides open the door again and walks inside before she even has the chance to remind him that he can call her MJ.  
  


* * *

Harry has breakfast ordered for the two of them by the time she wakes up, him perched at the foot of the bed with a phone in one hand and a slice of toast in the other. She sits up, sees the ghost of a smile that he flashes her before judging the rest of the food in her direction. They haven’t finished their conversation from yesterday and she’s unsure when they’ll get the chance.

“You wanna go down to the beach today?” he asks, attention drifting back to his phone as he sends a text, presumably to his father who would be the only one to message him this early in the morning. “Get some sand in your shoes?”

“I don’t even have to leave the room to find sand in my shoes,” she replies, and he hums quietly, stands up to press a brief kiss to her temple before shutting himself in the bathroom. There’s that familiar feeling that settles in her gut, but she can’t remember if it’s good or bad.

Michelle changes into a pair of shorts and a swim top, not that she’s going to go in the water at all. She exhales heavily, already dreading their beach expedition by the time Harry comes out with his trunks and t-shirt.

His palm slips into hers as they walk down, his fingers occasionally brushing against the ring he’d put on her hand just a week ago. Maybe he’s reminding himself that she said yes, or maybe he’s reminding her.

They set up beach chairs by the water, away from most of the people so that there aren’t children screaming in their ears or people kicking up sand in their faces. She wishes she’d brought a pair of sunglasses, Harry putting his on and kicking back to relax. But she did bring a book, which in hindsight could not be more useless on the beach where everything is a distraction.

Michelle sits there for about an hour, listening to the way Harry starts snoring. He fell asleep within fifteen minutes, his hat pulled down over his face. She tries to do the same, but it’s nearly impossible considering she’s not even tired.

A quarter past the hour mark is when she starts to feel uncomfortable, and it only dawns on her then that she forgot something important. They didn’t bring any sunscreen with them, a dumb move on their part, and Harry burns easily since he’s as pale as a sheet of paper.

She stands up and grabs their room key, already making her way back to the hotel. There’s so much sand in her shoes that she’s reminded once again how much she hates the beach.

Rounding the corner as she nearly reaches their room, Michelle’s about to pull the card out when the door she’s about to pass swings open. Arms fly out before she has the chance to stumble into him.

“Hey,” Peter breathes, palms smoothing against her arms before he immediately releases her, and she strains a smile. “Um. It looks like you’ve been out in the oven for too long.”

“Well. I forgot sunscreen.”

“You get burnt a little?”

“Judging by your comment, I’d say I didn’t tan as nicely as I thought,” Michelle deadpans, his lips curling into a small smile. She unlocks her neighboring door and steps inside, leaving it open as to not seem rude rather than it being an invitation for him to come in. “How’s Felicia?”

“She’s great,” he replies, lingering in the hallway, and she wonders if he’ll ever use a word other than great to describe his wife. “She’s showering right now but we’re about to go, uh, jet-skiing, so I’m just...waiting.”

Michelle offers him a smile, uncapping the sunscreen and starts to apply it up and down her arms, smoothing it against her skin. “Sounds fun.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, swallowing, fixating his gaze on the ceiling, and she realizes with a snort that he really meant it when he said they can only talk from a distance. Anywhere else is filled with a tension she can’t quite place. “What about you and your...sorry, I guess I don’t even know his name.”

“Harry. He’s sleeping on the beach, so I should probably...I should get back before he turns pinker than an overcooked salmon,” she says slowly, rubbing her palm around her shoulders to try to get every area with the sunscreen. He wets his lips as she struggles to get the spot near her shoulder blades, looks like he’s going through some internal conflict before stepping over the threshold.

“Do you need help?”

Michelle inhales slowly, her insides churning in an unfamiliar way, and she doesn’t answer. It’s not like this is a big deal, she thinks as she hands over the bottle, but if she were to look further through the glass window pane, she’d see her fiancé on the beach. She’d see him wake up and wonder where she is, and maybe she’d tell Peter to stop.

But they’re friends, and that’s all this is. She closes her eyes as he gently pulls her hair away, his hands warm against her skin as he massages the sunscreen in. Her breath catches when he brushes a thumb across the nape of her neck, getting underneath the chain of her necklace. 

“Thanks,” she says quietly, her voice far too soft, and he mutters a quiet ‘you’re welcome’ that she would be able to hear if he weren’t so close. But then his hands break their connection from her the second the water stops, the sound of the shower from next door turning off.

“I should...I’m sorry,” he apologizes, though that could be for so many things. He laughs and it’s awkward, and she hates that she can still feel the ghost of his touch against her skin. “I don’t know why I came in here. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“We’re good,” Michelle excuses, trying to brush it off as something nonchalant because that’s all it can be. “Have fun jet-skiing, though.”

“We will.” He ducks his head, and she watches his back as he starts leaving her room before speaking up again. 

“I saw this crab the other day in the sand,” she says, the hesitance evident in her voice, him pausing by the door though he doesn’t turn around. Some things are better left unsaid, but she finds that sentiment doesn’t apply with Peter. “And our conversation popped into my head.”

Peter twists his head slightly to look back at her, the barest yet softest smile she’s seen on him so far as he says, “It did?”

Michelle nods, feeling a warmth in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the sweltering heat of the weather. She thinks he made a solid point when saying they worked better from a distance. But they clearly can’t follow their own rules. “I think about you sometimes, too.”

* * *

Michelle closes the door behind her as she steps onto the balcony later that evening, taking care to make sure he’s not out there as well. She sighs heavily, running a hand through her hair as she dials a number on her phone. It rings once then twice before she picks up.

“Hello?” comes her mother’s groggy voice, Michelle wincing as she knows she could’ve called earlier in the day. Preferably before the sun set, but now it’s nearing eleven at night. Her mom is usually in bed with the TV on, halfway falling asleep by now. “Michelle?”

“Sorry for calling you this late,” she eventually exhales, sitting down on one of the chairs, elbows on her knees. “Did I wake you?”

“Of course not, honey,” her mom replies, yawning loudly, the television shutting off in the background. “I’m glad you called. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting a phone call earlier in the week, but I’m glad to hear from you now.”

Michelle chews the inside of her cheek, knowing this conversation has been long-awaited, but that doesn’t mean she wants to have it. “Sorry, Mama. I guess my mind has been somewhere else. How have you been?”

“Oh, fantastic. Your father brought home a cat from the shelter, and let me tell you, it’s a fuckin’ hellion,” she groans, the bed squeaking as she presumably sits up. “I keep saying we should return it, but he’s attached.”

“Harry loves cats,” Michelle says quietly, wondering if this is the easiest segway into the conversation. She glances back into the dimly lit room, the only visible light coming from underneath the bathroom door. 

“Isn’t that the truth. He’s also allergic, though, right?”

“Sure is.”

Her mom hesitates for a moment before asking, “How are things going between the two of you? I know before you left, things seemed a little...weird? Maybe I’m reading things wrong, but I like to think I know my daughter.”

“A little weird,” she repeats with a slight laugh, knowing that’s as good a word as any to describe them right now. “I just...I had a question. Um, how did you know? Like, when you met Dad, how did you...know he was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”

There’s a moment of hesitation on her end, like maybe she was expecting this question but not this soon. “For me, I think it was kind of like...love at first sight. Just...this feeling when you meet someone for the first time and you click in the right ways. But from then on, it was a process of growing together. Love is a choice. I knew that I was going to spend the rest of my life with your father when we kept choosing each other.”

“Love is a choice,” Michelle exhales, looking down at her ring. “And I chose Harry. I mean, I said yes.”

“Are you trying to convince me? Or yourself?”

“I said yes because I love him. Isn’t that a good enough reason to get married?” she asks all in one breath and wonders if this is a conversation every daughter has with her mother, wonders if second thoughts are as common as they seem to be. She thinks about the constant apprehension she’s felt ever since he’d put the ring on her.

“It certainly shouldn’t be the only reason. Think about what you do want, Michelle. Ask yourself if he makes you happy like you want to be. Ask yourself if you said yes to him for the right reasons.”

“Okay, Mama. Thank you,” Michelle mumbles into the phone, bringing her knees up to her chest as she leans back, the wind picking up. She tucks some hair from her face, fingering the necklace near her collarbone. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too, my girl. I’ll see you real soon. Your father sends his love, and the cat...sends his as well,” her mom says with a gentle laugh. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” she whispers before clicking the call off, phone falling into her lap. Her head hurts along with her heart if she thinks about everything they just talked about. She looks out at the clear sky and wonders if it’ll get better between them, or if she’s simply stringing Harry along.

Michelle sits just a little longer outside, knowing she’s waiting for Harry to go to bed before her. Or maybe she’s subconsciously waiting for something else, her eyes occasionally drifting to the balcony across from her that remains closed, locked, empty.

Eventually, she stands up, rubbing the soreness in her shoulders as she heads back inside, the seashell nightlight in the bathroom being the only thing keeping her from tripping. Harry is asleep on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, and she can’t help but smile a little. She thinks he looks beautiful like this, no crease between his brows, no scowl to his lips.

She sits in the chair against the wall, not ready to get into bed yet, her head hitting the cool plaster. But maybe she was more tired than she thought, drifting into a dark abyss until words hit her ears, break her out of the light sleep.

“ _ Fuck _ , Peter. Just like that.”

Michelle’s breath catches as she leans away from the wall slightly, hearing the sound of the bed squeaking, breathing low and heavy. She wonders how thin these walls really are if she can make out the sound of Peter fucking Felicia at midnight. Her stomach feels heavy as she stands, as she walks over to the bed.

Harry welcomes her even in his sleep, his arms curling around her, and she should feel better because he’s holding her and not because she can’t hear them next door anymore. It’s an odd sensation in her gut that has no reason to be as unprecedented and uncomfortable as it is. They’re celebrating their honeymoon after all, so they should get to have a good time. 

She falls asleep with her mind on everyone but the man next to her while the room through the wall silences after a door slams shut.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m on tumblr @coykoii!


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